


Flint and Steel

by AnAdventureInArt



Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-09
Updated: 2015-03-09
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:16:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3511544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnAdventureInArt/pseuds/AnAdventureInArt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toki Wartooth has been having nightmares, leaving him on the edge of insanity. Between the panic attacks and the sleepless nights, Skwisgaar Skwigelf offers what help he can, but when he finds the circumstances spiraling out of control, will he be able to keep his own head screwed on? </p>
<p>Set before and during the events leading up to The Church Of The Black Klok.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lurking At The Edge Of My Mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that is being uploaded as it is written. As such, updates may not be constant or predictable.

Muffled groans and cries for help echoed through the halls and chambers of Mordhaus; nothing new, given the prison and torture cells that lay deep beneath the surface. Nobody paid these sounds any mind, they had all grown accustomed to them, and they were as normal as the creaking of an old house in the wind. To Dethklok and the Klokateers, it was normal. 

But then why had Skwisgaar Skwigelf awoken, gasping for air as sweat dripped from his paler than usual skin?   
_Something ams wrongs…_   
As the cold realisation seeped into his heart, the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and, still panting, he wrenched the door open and pulled on the first shirt his hand touched as he ran down the corridors to where painful routine told him he would find the source of his unrest.

Toki’s bedroom.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The door flew open, blowing a model aeroplane from the shelf where it had been sitting and sending it crashing to the floor. The sound, however, was almost completely lost against the desperate gasping and choked sobs coming from the wreck of a man crumpled up on the ground at Skwisgaar’s feet.  
“Toki!” He dropped down beside him, eyes wide as he gripped his friend firmly by the shoulders and heaved him upwards into a sitting position, head hanging between his knees. Panic attacks were far from news for the rhythm guitarist; a lifetime of abuse – both physical and emotional – had irrevocably etched them into his everyday life.  
Unfortunately, no matter how many times he fell to the floor, clutching wildly at his chest and shaking like a leaf, they never got easier. Only worse. 

There was, as usual, no way of knowing what had set this one off. Sometimes it was a memory, other times a smell from his childhood. The worst one so far had been when he had overheard Nathan yelling at the television, telling whatever mindless channel that was on that it wasn’t good enough, and never will be. That had left some deep scars in the flesh of the Norwegian’s palms.  
As far as Skwisgaar could tell, this was a nightmare out of control. That would be much harder to get him to talk about, and so he made a note to ask the next day. For now, he would focus on keeping Toki from having a heart attack. 

“Toki, breathes… Breathes for me…” Skwisgaar traced circles with the palm of his hand between the younger man’s shoulder blades, soothing him as he choked back sobs, trying to calm himself. A shuddering hand swept along the floor, blindly seeking comfort, and upon finding the hem of Skwisgaar’s shirt, clung onto it for dear life. 

Eventually, as his breathing began to level out a little, Toki turned around, utterly exhausted, and wrapped his arms around the blonde’s waist, letting the rest of his tears fall into his shirt, as Skwisgaar responded in kind, holding him tightly to his chest. Small noises still came from the suddenly frail form, although much less worryingly.  
“Shhh, Toki. It’s ams alright… I amnest leavings you…” It tore at his heart to see the closest thing he ever had to a brother in such agony. If he could take all the pain away, he would do so in a heartbeat.   
Toki grew quieter, until Skwisgaar craned his neck to see his face, finding him to be fast asleep. He smiled sadly; he was growing used to Toki crying himself to sleep, a sad fact indeed.  
As he heaved him up, bridal style, he thought to himself about how he could help, but, as every night, the only answer he kept coming back to was therapy. And they had already tried that.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Toki woke with a start, to find himself in the gloriously simple stone-and-bear-fur bed that could only belong to Skwisgaar. Blinking away the salty residue from the night’s tears, he sat up. Skwisgaar himself was asleep, having passed out not-so-elegantly-sprawled across the parts of bed not being taken up by Toki.  
He gently pulled himself from the bearskins and crept to the bathroom, intent on washing his face before heading for breakfast in the dining hall with the rest of the band.  
“Toki…” Skwisgaar mumbled blearily as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Toki froze, and after a moment of hesitation, turned around.  
“Skwisgaar… I…” This scene played out several times a month, and increasing in frequency and severity, but the awkwardness never went away. He was grateful, down to his soul, and they both knew that. The thank you was always more out of politeness than necessity, and so it always felt forced.   
“Its ams okay… I’ll sees you at breaksfast.” He smiled warmly, and waited for Toki to leave the room before going about getting dressed for the day.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	2. Creeping Into My Reality

Three days passed, Skwisgaar acted as though nothing had happened. It was better if nobody else knew about Toki’s problem; they would only see it at face value. Toki being a pussy, and he really, truly was not. Not with that history.   
He’d never admit to the rest of the band that he cared about Toki. The constant mockery that would ensue was not worth it, and so he continued to watch out for him in secrecy. Skwisgaar really did love the kid, though that had only been a relatively recent development. Toki Wartooth had been through some serious shit lately.   
After his father’s death, his cat’s death, his turmoil over Rockzo and his countless relapses, his drinking problem, the rock camp and the kids there who tried to kill him, not to mention his childhood, and all the shit the band had gone through together… It had left a lasting scar on the boy. 

Skwisgaar was pulled from his thoughts by Charles Offdensen clearing his throat.   
“Ah, if I could have your attention, everyone? I’d like to make an… Nathan, why do you have my plasma globe? It doesn’t belong to you.”   
“Hey. Hey. Check this out.” Nathan poked the ball with a finger, jumping back slightly when the vein of lightning shot from the centre to the point he was touching. Of course, suddenly, everyone was fascinated too, and they all gathered around it, save for Toki, who was missing from the meeting room entirely.  
Charles, defeated by the band’s childish attraction to stupid things, let them play. It was then that he noticed Toki’s absence.   
“Hey, uh, where’s Toki?”  
“Toki?” Murderface poked his head out from the tightly-knit group around the strange zappy-flashy ball on the table, “Haven’t scheen him schinche yeshterday.”  
“Huh. Well, if you’re all happy to continue…” They obviously weren’t, “We can just fill him in later.”  
“Looks! It zaps for my tongues!” Skwisgaar had his face pressed against the ball, while Pickles uncapped the bottle of vodka in his hand, preparing to pour it over the globe. However, despite their total immersion in this new toy, once they heard the distinct sound of a zipper going down, they pulled away faster than Charles had ever seen them move before in his life.  
William, standing on a chair, looked around.  
“What?” his hands were still on the fly of his shorts, evidently preparing to put his dick on the globe. Their manager was strangely grateful.  
“Alright, now we've all had a little fun, let’s talk about business. You guys have an international tour coming up, and the press wants to know more about it. Where you’re going, when it’s happening, whether it’s actually going ahead, the usual stuff. I’ve called a conference for tomorrow afternoon, and I need you to make sure you have all the details before you go out there. Nathan, I’ve got your speech here, read it, remember it. That’s all.”  
As Charles turned and left, the band turned back to the plasma globe, except for Skwisgaar, who got up and left the room without a word.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Toki sat in his room, focusing intently on the model plane he was building, when Skwisgaar knocked and opened the door.  
“You’s okay? You’s missed the meetings.”  
“Yeah, I knows…” It was then that Skwisgaar noticed the black rings around Toki’s eyes, and the general tiredness that clung to him like a disease. He sat down beside him and sighed.  
“You shoulds sleeps, Toki. Yous looks like…” He shrugged, letting the sentence trail off. Toki was well aware of how shitty he looked; he felt much the same way.   
“I can’t.” He turned to face Skwisgaar now, pleading with his eyes for him to understand, “I tried, I’s too scareds! Every times I close my eyes, alls I sees is death and pains and…” He choked back tears now, terrified out of his mind, “I saws _him_ , Skwisgaar. I saws Mr. Selatcia.”  
That name suddenly meant something to Skwisgaar. Never before had he heard it in his life, but here, in this room, in this context, it was dangerous. Every hair on Skwisgaar’s body suddenly stood on end, and for a brief moment, he could almost see him in his mind’s eye. This was huge. This was bigger than him, bigger even than Dethklok.   
Bigger than Dethklok… A memory floated into his head; Charles’ voice, recalled vaguely from a comment some time ago. Perhaps this was what he had meant.  
“Tokis. I thinks it’s time to talks to Charles.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“You’ve seen him.”  
Neither Toki nor Skwisgaar had said a word, yet as soon as they’d entered Offdensen’s office, he’d known what was going on.   
“Um, dat’s a bit creepies…” Skwisgaar muttered, but Toki just wailed hopelessly.  
“Whats do’s we doooooo?! He ams followsing me! I can’ts sleeps, I can’ts thinks, I can’ts do’s it!” Suddenly, he was gripping Skwisgaar’s arm with an intensity that he was sure would break it, but the lead guitarist pretended it didn’t hurt, instead subtly pulling the distraught man closer.   
“His name is-“  
“Mr. Selatcia. He tolds me…” Toki’s lip was quivering, frightened beyond compare. Charles sighed heavily.   
“Toki, sit down, and try to listen. This is not something to be taken lightly. Skwisgaar, have you seen him in your dreams?”  
“No, but when Tokis saids his name I saws his face.”  
“Very well. Wait outside. There’s no point endangering you, too.” Skwisgaar’s heart skipped a beat, and the colour ran from his face. Endangering…? Toki was in danger? Real danger, too, by the sounds of it. He left, numbly closing the door behind him, eliciting a scared whimper from Toki, who watched him go.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

“Toki, you are in grave danger. Selatcia shows himself to his targets before he comes for them. And he never fails. What he wants from you is unclear, but you need to know that I can only tell you so much. If he knew that you were aware of the circumstances surrounding this, which he would, he’s already in your mind, he would kill you outright. I’m prepared to do anything to keep that from happening. That’s why I sent Skwisgaar outside. Just knowing about this is enough to put him at risk.”  
Toki’s skin paled with every word, and as he struggled to process this new information, he began to tremble. Charles continued.  
“I already know too much, I have seen Selatcia face to face in his true form, and I survived. When I ‘died’ after the attack on Mordhaus, I ensured my safety for a time. I gathered information, and came back to protect the band as best I could. There is something coming, Toki, and you are going to be hurt. Possibly killed. Separated from the rest. I don’t know, and if I did, I couldn’t tell you. You can’t tell Skwisgaar, or he might be at risk, too. I’d avoid telling anyone else, also. If you need counsel, come to me.”  
Toki nodded, on the verge of blacking out as the combination of this terrifying information and exhaustion threatened to overwhelm him. Charles helped him to his feet and to the door, where Skwisgaar was waiting, pacing restlessly outside.   
“Put him to bed, he needs to sleep. And don’t ask him about our conversation. It will only hurt.”

And so Skwisgaar tucked Toki in bed, and within moments, he was asleep, clinging to his stuffed bear for dear life. Skwisgaar stayed and watched him for some time, before urgent matters had to be attended to in the studio with the rest of the band, and he left him to rest.

Hours later, Toki would jolt awake, screaming, heart racing and sheets soaking with a combination of sweat and, from the waist down, liquid terror. He was certain, then, that his death was coming, at the hands of someone he trusted dearly. Who, he didn’t yet know, but the image of the knife sticking out of his back was enough to fill him with dread.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	3. Piercing The Veil

Days turned into weeks, and Skwisgaar found Toki growing ever more distant. He was becoming a shadow of himself, barely eating, almost never sleeping, save from the times where exhaustion got the better of him and he would pass out wherever he happened to be at that moment.   
It was taking its toll on everyone. Nathan had picked him up off the floor more often than he would consider admitting, and Pickles tried every day to convince him to eat something - _anything_. Eventually, he gave up, putting him on an intravenous drip whenever he slipped into unconsciousness.

With the Europe leg of their international tour approaching, tensions began to rise. Would Toki collapse on stage? Could he even still play? Everything was looking doubtful.  
With their departure date gaining ground on them, the band upped their efforts to coax their rhythm guitarist into caring for himself a little more. He tried. He really did, but food tasted like ash to him, and sleep only meant forcing himself to relive the nightmares that plagued him ever more every time he closed his eyes.   
Still, he tried, and with each day, his general health crept back to him. Only Skwisgaar seemed to notice the decline in his mental health. 

“Why the fuck has Toki been such a dick lately?” Nathan muttered angrily, clearly at the end of his rope, “We leave for Norway _tomorrow_. We don’t have time for his bullshit.”  
“I don’t know, dudes, but I’m starting to think that maybe, just maybe it’s time to go back to your original plan, Skwisgaar. One guitar band…” Pickles tentatively nudged at the idea, the only one to voice what everyone else was thinking. Well, almost everyone.  
At the mention of his name, Skwisgaar’s head shot up. Kick Toki out? If he was really in as much danger as he had come to believe, leaving him to fend for himself would only be signing a guarantee to his death.   
“No! Uh… I needs him. I plays better with him. And besides, he ams my only brothers! Scandinavia sentsed us boths here, there must be a reasons!”  
“Oh come on, you’ve schaid it yourshelf before! We don’t need him!” Murderface jammed his dagger into the arm of his chair, “You’re the bescht there isch!”  
“No.” Skwisgaar was firm, forcing back the doubt forming in his own mind, “Toki stays.”  
“Alright,” Nathan conceded, “but if he fucks up, it’s on _your_ head.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Skwisgaar spent the rest of the day, once Toki had come to, in the studio with him, going over all the songs on the setlist, preparing the younger guitarist as best he could for the show they would be playing the following night. He never missed a note, proving that he was as good as ever, and laying any fears Skwisgaar had to rest. The show would go off without a hitch; they would play their show and leave for Sweden in the morning, and nobody had to leave the band.  
Toki put down his guitar and slumped against the wall. Skwisgaar’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest; for a moment, he thought something was wrong, but Toki just sighed and hung his head.  
“Skwisgaar, whys we not talks no mores?” He wasn’t quite sure how to answer that. It wasn’t because he didn’t want to; in fact he did, very much.  
“I don’ts knows… Evers since dat consverstations wit Charles, you’s been distants. I’s been worrieds.”  
Toki frowned and sighed again. He wanted to tell Skwisgaar about the constant plague of terror in his dreams, but he also didn’t want him to get hurt, or worse. He was scared and lost, utterly alone yet surrounded by what he considered his closest friends.   
“Jeg er så, så redd, Skwisgaar, jeg vet ikke hva jeg skal gjøre. Charles sier at hvis jeg forteller deg, kan du dø. Jeg vil ikke at du skal dø!” Toki almost never reverted to Norwegian, and when he did, it was a sign that Skwisgaar had come to regard as panicking. Tears had begun to run down Toki’s face, and the lead guitarist immediately pulled him in close.   
“Toki, nej, inte gråta, jag är här…” The differences between Swedish and Norwegian prevented Skwisgaar from saying everything he wanted to; his command over English wasn’t good enough, and he knew the words were too different in Swedish for Toki to understand them. He hoped what he had chosen to say would suffice. At least for now.  
Toki calmed down considerably; these conversations in their native tongues were always a fine security blanket for him. He did feel bad that he had never really attempted to learn Swedish, and just sort of expected Skwisgaar to pick up the slack, but right now, all that mattered was the fact that they shared this special thing that nobody else in the band had. Like a secret code between children.  
“Skwisgaar…” I’m sorry? I don’t mean to be the biggest baby you’ve ever met? I hope I haven’t made you think less of me?  
Before he could find the words to express that he was in fact aware of how pathetic he must seem, Skwisgaar had pulled him in closer, and, after some rather undignified attempts at the unfamiliar Norwegian, caused Toki to cling tighter than ever before.  
“Ikke be… om… unnskyldning.” He was sure he messed up the pronunciation. He hoped it didn’t matter, and he hadn’t accidentally told his friend not to breathe or something stupid. Judging by the way that Skwisgaar could currently not breathe, however, he thought it must have been pretty close to accurate.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	4. As Good A Day As Any

Throughout the trip to Norway, the band let Toki sleep. They had dosed him up on sleeping pills, stuck him on IV nutrients again, and left him to hopefully recover enough to play this concert.  
Although they had decided long ago to not openly care about each other, they were all reaching the point where they had to, or risk losing everything they had worked for.

“Guys… I think Toki needs to go to hospital.”  
They had all been sitting in silence, save for the unamplified twang of Skwisgaar’s guitar, when Pickles had broken the tension. Nathan hummed in reluctant agreement.  
“Something’s actually wrong with him. I mean, I know we all thought he was just being a dick-“  
“Douchebag.”  
“Total dildos”  
“Aschhole”  
“Yeah all of those, but I’m starting to think that maybe he’s really sick. I mean, for all we know, maybe he’s not taking care of his diabetes or something. What if he’s trying to…”  
“Commit suicide? Toki? No way. He’s always so damn happy go lucky.” The idea seemed to both shock and confuse the drummer, and although he defended Toki, he couldn’t help but entertain the idea.  
“Yeah but you’ve seen how he’s been the last few weeks. He’s been smiling less and less; maybe it’s something we need to consider.”  
The silence fell over them again, and Skwisgaar felt the guilt wash over him. Maybe he was trying to kill himself. It kind of made sense. After all, who would really want to live, having been told what he had been told? And he had shut everyone else out. And if he wanted to die, he had the right means to do it. He shouldn’t have let him shut him out.  
“I hopes you ams wrong, but I thinks you maysbe right…”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the last hour and a half before the show was due to start, Toki was awoken by Charles himself, and as he shakily got ready to perform, his manager rested an awkward hand on his arm.  
“Toki, why haven’t you come to me for help? You’ve only hurt yourself by keeping it to yourself, and I know how terrifying it much be for you to see these things in your sleep.”  
“Toki remained silent, applying his facepaint in the mirror. Offdensen exhaled slowly, before trying a different avenue of convincing him to open up.  
“You know, the boys think you’re trying to commit suicide. They were talking earlier about you, and they really seem to care.” A deeper awkwardness fell over Toki, and Charles’ heart fell, “You’re not trying to, are you?”  
“No… But… I’s been tempsteds…” Tears started to well in his eyes, threatening to run his paint, “I keeps seein’ myselfs in a dungeons, upsides down on a cross… Bleedin’s and sick. And there ams another cross nexts to me with someone else ons it but I can’ts sees them… I’s scareds…”  
The tears began to fall, and as the rhythm guitarist stood there, holding himself in his arms, shaking like a leaf, Skwisgaar tentatively pushed the door open. Charles’ head whipped around, sighing in relief when he saw the blonde.  
“Tokis!” He immediately ran to his side, pulling his head in close to his chest, “What ams happens?!”  
“Justs a dream…” His voice was small, shaking as his body threatened to betray him and send him into a full-blown panic.  
As Skwisgaar ran his slender fingers through his straight, dark hair, Charles slipped out of the room, the awkwardness proving to be too much for him. Skwisgaar knew how to calm Toki by now, and would do a far better job of it than he ever could.   
“Toki, relax, I’s nots gonna lets anythings happen to yous…” And Toki believed him. Something about the tenderness Skwisgaar had begun to show him in the time since he had been having these issues made Toki trust him unquestioningly.  
When his breathing had returned to normal, and he had stopped quivering, Skwisgaar pulled away to look eye to eye.  
“We’s gonna plays dis show, and den we’s gonna do Sweden and den Iceland. Afters that, we haves a week until we gots to goes to Germany. We’s gonna works dis out, okays?”  
Toki nodded, and smiled weakly, before going back to fixing his makeup, and Skwisgaar left to finish setting up.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Everything was going well. It really was. Toki was looking healthy, almost back to his old self, his playing was as good as ever, and nothing was amiss. It went off without a hitch.  
Until, that is, the pyrotechnics went off.

The screams drowned out even the explosions, and amidst the haze of smoke and flames, the sold-out crowd watched in horror as Toki fell to his hands and knees, gasping for air between sobs.  
The amplifiers and speakers shrieked as Nathan dropped his microphone and Skwisgaar threw his guitar strap off of his shoulders and ran to Toki’s side.

“I-I-I saw-“ His breathing quickened dramatically, becoming shallower with each laboured breath, until he vomited. His whole body shuddered and threatened to give in on itself, so Skwisgaar gathered him up in his arms, pulling his long hair away from his face.  
“Shhh, shhhh, don’t speaks… ikke prøv å snakke…” Toki was bawling by now, clenching his fists so tightly that blood ran from his palms in red rivulets down his arms.  
“I… Saw… Him…” And he passed out.

Around them, the band was rushing around, Charles was shouting orders to Klokateers, and the crowd was murmuring away, but Skwisgaar only heard the panic of Toki’s voice replaying through his mind.

Selatcia was coming for him. 

And soon.


	5. The Calm Before The Storm

_Beep, beep, beep, beep…_

_Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee-_

“Well. That beep’sch even worsche than the firscht one…” William earned a death glare from everyone in the room as he sheepishly plugged the lead from the pulse monitor back into the machine, and it returned to its steady throb.  
“Yous a fuckins dildo, Murderface.” Skwisgaar muttered, waiting for his own heart to settle back into a normal rhythm as the bassist simply shrugged, going back to fiddling with his dagger.   
Toki had been out cold for several hours now, although this was in part due to the drugs the doctors had pumped him full with, in a bid to keep his vitals regular; nobody wanted the guitarist to have a stroke or anything. They had been told to expect him to be asleep for a few hours to come, but surprisingly, Nathan had insisted they stay.   
“I had no idea it was that bad for the guy. If I had I would’ve had the tour cancelled. I feel like an asshole, this is all my fault, and if all I can do to make it right is sit here and wait for him to wake up, then that’s what I’m gonna do!”  
And so they had. Pickles had been growing ever more distant from Nathan over the last few months, however, and had left after fifteen minutes, having had a heated discussion with the singer, and told him to ‘go fuck himself with a rake’, before telling Skwisgaar and Murderface to call him as soon as Toki began to stir.

With nothing else to really talk about, the remaining three discussed the argument.  
“So why ams you and Pickle fightings like de marrieds old couples?” Skwisgaar was anxiously fingering imaginary frets on his thigh, a tic he had picked up as a young boy. This whole conversation was just a pathetic distraction from his fear. Nathan sighed.  
“Y’know our new producer, right? Abigail?” He paused, and Murderface rolled his eyes, “Well… We both like her. And when we were recording… Y’know, underwater again… I… She… Something happened. And Pickles is pissed about it, because he wanted her too. And she… Agh, forget it. He’s just being a pussy.”  
“Pickle ams jealous, ja? Dats ams… Pretty sads actsually, huh. He ams could gets any ladies he want and he ams fights you for her.” Skwisgaar sighed and shook his head, fingers still dancing maniacally on his lap, drawing an odd look from the bassist.   
“It’s worse… ‘cause I really like her, y’know? And I like him, he’s my brother. And I can’t have them both. And we both work with her so either way it could mess up the band and… I don’t know, I think I’ve got myself into too much, here. Like, what if this destroys Dethklok? What if we all lose everything we worked so hard for?!”  
“Nathan, thatsch getting awfully closche to gaynesche…” William pointed to him with the dagger with a raised eyebrow, and Nathan nodded.  
“Right, right, sorry, I’ll stop. No more emotions. Caring, off. Yep. Zip. Done”  
“Done.”  
“Done.”  
And so once again, they sat in awkward silence, save for the steady beep of the monitor.

Pickles was, meanwhile, stewing in his bedroom, a half-empty bottle of tequila perched between his legs. He resented everything. He resented Nathan for stealing away Abigail, who was so obviously not interested in pursuing anything, but he couldn’t even try to do anything with her or the singer would lose his shit. He resented this stupid fucking tour, which he hadn’t wanted to do so soon before the album release but had to do anyway. He resented how Charles had ignored everyone and everything to the best of his ability, when there was so much shit going wrong and they all desperately needed help and guidance. He resented Skwisgaar for caring so much about Toki and not at all about any of the rest of this crap, as if the rhythm guitarist was the be all and end all of their problems. And although he didn’t want to, and he regretted it with every cell in his body, he resented Toki for complicating an already shitty situation.  
He knew it wasn’t really his fault, but it still sucked. It was inconvenient, and the weeks leading up to this had been equally difficult to deal with. Pickles was stressed and despite knowing that blaming someone who was obviously already going through so much was a total dick move, he couldn’t stop.

The drummer sighed and upended the bottle into his mouth, the amber liquor running smoothly down his well-accustomed throat. His time with Dethklok was running short. He couldn’t keep hating everyone and expect everything to be just dandy; life didn’t work that way, not even for multi-platinum billionaires. He would have to make a decision or work through it somehow, or this would be the last tour he ever played.


End file.
